I pull away from Aniket, unable to breathe from the long passionate kiss. The cold air surrounded us as the beach came into view, the waves slapping against the coastline in a gentle manner.
The blue waves parted once again, weeping in despair as it separated from the tanned sand. Kids and adults alike roamed happily in the sand, watching the sun starting to depart to the other side of the world.
The light red and orange hues on the evening sky set a romantic mood, the couples rejoicing in the warm weather.
I remembered a time when I used to beg my parents to come here every weekend, enjoying the warm sun dancing on my skin and loving the fresh air filling my lungs.
I open the car door, reminiscing in the warm feeling and running away from the car to chase the sun. Aniket yells after me, but I don't stop; I couldn't stop. My legs did the thinking and who was I to refuse its natural urge?
I could hear Aniket's feet pounding through the sand behind me, trying to catch up. I slow down when I see the tiny ice cream shop, suddenly craving the sugary goodness.
My stomach growls in approval and I turn, slyly winking at Aniket before sprinting to the shop. I hold two of my fingers up, "Two ice creams please." I order.
"What flavor would you like?" The nice woman asks, lifting up the spoon.
I think about it for a moment. Aniket loves anything strawberry; I can smell the scent of strawberry shampoo, body wash all over me. "One strawberry and one chocolate please." I exclaim, bouncing on my toes.
Aniket catches up to me, placing a hand on my shoulder as he balances himself. "Pay for it." I command him. He smiles in response, shaking his head at me as he searches for money.
"I don't have money. Just cards." He says, patting and turning out his pockets to prove it to me.
I turn to the woman. "Do you know if there is ATM nearby?" I ask her, and she frowns, looking at my already licked ice-cream.
"A few stores past this one." She says, trying to burn me with her gaze.
I nod at her, sheepishly smiling as I shrug my shoulders. Aniket sprints to where the woman pointed. Halfway, his expensive shoes give up on him, filling themselves with sand with the amount of pressure Aniket was applying on them. Aniket looks between me and his shoes, and sighs. He throws his shoes on the ground, looking at it longingly once more before sprinting to his destination.
I sneer. Rich people.
I ignore the lady behind the counter, enjoying the coolness of the ice-cream on my taste buds as I watch the sun sink into the water.
The sun took its possessions with it, repacking the warmth it offered mere minutes ago with cold, chilly air. Sitting on the counter, I watch the children play in the waves. They only wear beat-down clothes, with no adults in their circle of happiness. My eyes follow the footprints they left behind to enter the water, spotting tin cans and cardboard boxes filled with merchandise of all sorts.
Before I could get closer to observe them, a young child sneaks up on me, looking at me with her big brown eyes. "Hello." She says meekly. She could have been five or six, with dirty brown hair and a muddied yellow sundress. Her hair is braided loosely as pigtails, making her look so adorable. Her lips smiled while her eyes showed the exact opposite feeling; loss and sadness clouded her eyes as she brought her weaved basket up to my face, encasing her shells. "Their only five rupees, ma'am. My mama says you could hear the whole sea when you listen." She exclaims, holding up five fingers again to emphasize her point that it was really cheap.
"Come here." I say, beckoning her and patting my lap.
She observes me for a moment, her eyes widening. She takes a cautious step back from me. "You won't h-hurt me?" She asks, whimpering as tears suddenly fill her eyes.
"No, no, child. Just come here." She doesn't budge, still aware of my every move. "Tell you what; I'll buy all of your shells." I exclaim, opening my arms wide to explain it to her visually.
"You will?" She asks, titling her tiny head at me. She coughs after her sentence, wheezing as she blows the mucus out and wiping it with her sleeve promptly.
"Do you like shells too?"
"Oh yes! I love them." I tell her, not having to fake
the enthusiasm. "I used to collect them when I used to come here as a young girl."
She puts her fingers up, showcasing her frail fingers. "One shell is five dollars. I have, um—-
She stares at her shells, unsure of how many she had in her basket. "Do you know how to count?" I ask her, and she shakes in head, breaking my heart at the tragedy.
All children, regardless of getting an education, would have learned to count. Their parents would have taught them to help them in their businesses. After all, they had to earn money to survive everyday and every member of the family was a valuable asset.
"Where are your parents? Your-um- mama?" At the mention of her mother, her eyes brim with tears once again.
She points at the pink sky, tapping my cheek lightly to make sure that I followed. I'm afraid to ask about her father. "Your pa?" I ask, lowering my eyes.
"On the sea floor, mama said. He said he went fishing one day and never came back to us." I turn my head, unable to cope with looking at this innocent little girl.
I can't even tell her I'm sorry when she is not even of age to understand the concept of death. How many of these children were there on this very beach?
"Do you have anyone to take care of you?" I ask her, my heart leaping out of my bones, and signaling me to help this child with whatever I have.
"My brother." She says, pointing to the beach. Playing in the tides, are a group of kids, boys and girls alike. They are splashing, shoving and pushing, all of them radiating happiness despite their circumstances.
"Where are all their parents?" I ask, knowing the answer even without asking.
Once again, the little girl points to the sky. Orphaned children, taking the role of a father and providing for their siblings. It was impeccable, how they still haven't lost their innocence and childhood.
If I reported them, their little nest would be shattered. Besides, I bet my life that the authorities know about these orphaned children. Bribery can get you so far in this land. Only in this land. It is disgusting.
"What is your name, baby?" I ask the child.
"Aruvi." She says, smiling. "My mama said it meant waterfall. My mama likes water." She states seriously. "Are you going to buy my shells or not?" She squeaks a moment later, furrowing her tiny brows with frustration.
I wanted to laugh at her cuteness, but that would have gotten the feisty little girl angry, so I shut my mouth, pursing my lips. Where is that idiot?
I lift my eyebrows, smiling at the little girl as she waits for a response. "Can I tell you a story, while my husband get here with the money?" Her ears twitch when I spoke of money, suddenly plopping down on the sand.
"Arun hates telling stories." She explains, waiting for me tell the story. I lick the ice-cream in my hand, unsure of what I was going to tell her. I don't know that many stories, even though my parents told me every night when I was a child. Aruvi's eyes stray to the pink ice-cream in my other hand, and I hand it over to the little girl instinctively, earning a smile from the shopkeeper lady who had been listening to our conversation.
Aruvi claims the cone in one hand, her other hand grabbing hold of the basket beside her cautiously.
"There was once a Priest. One early morning, the priest had to make his way to other side of the river so he could visit the temples on the other side. Unfortunately, no one was there to get him across except a fisherman."
Aruvi bounces with her feet crossed. "Like my dad." She exclaims.
"Yes, like your farther. Where was I? Oh, yes. So the priest went to ask the fisherman to take him across the river. The fisherman agreed, receiving no money for the deed. You see, back then, priests learned everything from different teachers, people known as gurus. Each guru would be specialized in some sort of art, and young men would provide service to the gurus in order to learn skills. This particular priest, thought he knew everything there was to know about the world. Therefore, he saw the fisherman as a uneducated fool."
Aruvi has entirely sunk into the story, even forgetting about her dripping ice-cream. Her adorable eyes focused on mine intently, urging me to remember the story.
"As the wooden boat drifted along the water, the priest asked the man about his non existent education. The priest asked, 'have you learnt the Mahabharata?' And the fisherman replied: 'no, kind sir. I know nothing about Mahabharata. My trade is fishing and I occasionally live off of getting money from transporting people in the river.' So the priest said: 'oh no, you have wasted a whole quarter of your life, not knowing the Mahabharata.' And the man just smiled graciously at the priest, humbly receiving his complaints. The priest asks the fisherman if he had learnt the Ramayana, or other great work like the Natyasashtra and the fisherman in turn replied a curt 'no' to every question. And the priest concluded this: 'you have wasted so much of your life, not getting an education.'"
"Wait, why didn't the fisherman not talk back? Arun always tells me to defend myself I the mean bullies try to hurt me. He gave me this," she pulls out a knife from under her dress, twirling it by its handle. "Arun said I can hurt whoever wanted to hurt me."
I wanted to cry at the little girl's troublesome life. No, I am not leaving this poor soul out here to fend for herself. If I report them, will they let the kids stay together? Or will they separate them in the name of adoption?
The second path is more likely, since orphanages are already so full of children.
I decided to tell the story so that she will not lose interest and run away. "The fisherman was a nice person, and he lived with whatever he had. The priest had skills and knowledge but no possessions. However, his pride got the best of him. Anyways, so before they get to the other side, the sky turns dark and a lighting bolt splits apart the boat. The fisherman knew how to swim but the priest had never even been in a body of water before, so he splashed around, trying to keep himself afloat. The fisherman sees this, and says: 'I may have wasted half my life not knowing these literary works, but you're about to lose your whole life because you didn't learn how to swim!" He swims away, leaving the priest to drown. The end."
Aruvi claps. "That priest jerk deserved it."
I laugh at her comment. "No matter how evil a person is, they don't deserve to die, hon. Every deserves to live a happy life."
"Do I?" She asks, twisting her sundress between two fingers nervously.
"Of course you do. You know, I have a girl like you growing inside of me." I place my hand gently over my dress, and the smart girls' eyes stray to the slight action immediately.
"How do you know she is like me?"
"Mothers always know. And willing to bet anything that she will grow up to be as cute as you." I say, pinching her cheek lightly and kissing my hand. She giggles.
"You're silly. You haven't seen her yet."
I wave at her comment, ignoring it. I have a feeling.
"Anyways, What do you think the moral of the story was?" I ask her, trying to divert the topic.
"Moral? What's that?" She asks, tilting her head as she cups her cheeks with her tiny slender hands.
"I meant, what did the story teach you?" The girl taps her chin and shrugs.
"I don't know. That bad people always lose?" She asks, incertain.
"No. That's not what the story said. No amount of education can equate to experience. Something all of you kids have. You're street smart. And I'm sure you wan to become something in the future?" I interrogate, slowing down everything so that the little girl could understand.
"Arun says he wants to be a good person. I want to be what my brother wants to be."
"You want to be a good person?" I ask, the tears threatening to make a dramatic entrance.
"Hm-hmm. I want to help people like me and my brother and all the other urchins in the street."
"You want to be a social worker?" She scrunches her face at the label for the job and shakes her head.
"I want to help people." She repeats stubbornly.
I chuckle at her cuteness. "Alright, pumpkin. Are you done with that?" I ask, pointing to what's left of the ice-cream cone.
"Arun told me not to waste food." She puts the cone into her small mouth, having trouble chewing it. I laugh at her, but I do the same, bringing a sly grin on the child's beautiful face.
At that moment, Aniket decided to appear. He looks between me and the child, confused.
"Where's my ice-cream?
Oops!
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